


put me in, coach (i'm ready to play)

by posey_28



Category: Baseball RPF
Genre: (?), Character Study, Gen, Trans Character, Trans Male Character, buster is literally the only character lmao
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-01-02
Updated: 2017-01-02
Packaged: 2018-09-14 08:32:59
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,074
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9171022
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/posey_28/pseuds/posey_28
Summary: geraldine dempsey posey is going to become the first girl to play major league baseball. she's already been an all-star in her small-town little league for three years in a row, and that basically makes her a shoo-in for the hall of fame.she's going to make it big one day. she'll get out of this town, and she'll be one of the greats.“there goes posey,” they'll say, “the greatest damn catcher who ever lived.”…she's fifteen when she realizes she's not going to be the first girl to play major league baseball.if he's honest, he's scared to death.(or: the "buster posey is a trans man" fic ive been meaning to write forever)





	

**Author's Note:**

> ive been meaning to write this for so long lmao
> 
> title is from "centerfield" by john fogerty

geraldine dempsey posey is going to become the first girl to play major league baseball. she's already been an all-star in her small-town little league for three years in a row, and that basically makes her a shoo-in for the hall of fame. 

she's going to make it big one day. she'll get out of this town, and she'll be one of the greats.

_ “there goes posey,” _ they'll say,  _ “the greatest damn catcher who ever lived.” _

_ … _

she stops playing little league the summer after she turns thirteen. having a girl on the team isn't cool anymore, even if she's the only player in the league who can throw a runner out at second.

so she stops, because she doesn’t want to play softball. that's like saying  _ they were right; girls are better off not playing real baseball at all. _

sometimes she wanders around town, states wistfully at the fathers and sons playing catch, the little league practices, the sandlot games, and she thinks. she thinks a lot that summer.

pretty soon she figures out that if she ties her hair under her cap just right, wears an old all-star jersey and a pair of thrift store cargo shorts, she could almost be one of  _ them _ . 

next time she goes out, she brings her glove. maybe one of those sandlot teams is short a catcher. 

weeks pass. months. june turns to july turns to august, and she's stopped going out as often.

then, one day, it happens. finally. she's walking around with her glove hanging from one hand and her catcher’s mask from the other, well aware how ridiculous she must look, when she hears it.

“hey, you catch?”

it takes her a second to process. when she responds, she's tripping over her own words.

“i- yeah! do you… need a catcher or something?” (act cool, act cool.)

“if you wanna play,” the kid says. he's probably fourteen, fifteen. older than her, but not too much. and it's not like she's competing for the position. 

“sure.”

“you mind catching for both sides?”

(act cool, act cool.)

“nah. uh, i mean, sure, yeah.”

“nice!” she hears some kid in the back of their group pipe up. “i’ve been wanting to try stealing off connor.”

“in your dreams,” the guy (connor, apparently) says, before turning back to her.

…

game is everything she'd been dreaming of the entire summer. dust and sweat and shouting and she doesn't think she's ever been happier. she even throws that kid (jason, she's learned) out at second. 

at the end of the game (only five and a half innings; it’s getting dark), she can't stop grinning. there's a spring in her step - literally, she feels like she can't help but jump around.

“easy there, buster,” jason says, laughing.

“let him be excited,” the shortstop (austin?) says. “you played good, kid.”

“thanks,” she says, and then realizes how dumb that probably sounded. it's too late now, though; she tries to shrug it off.

the next few realizations come all at once:

  1. they think she's about ten years old. maybe younger. why else would a teenager call her “buster”?
  2. they think she's a boy.



she doesn't correct them. she's not sure why it doesn't bother her.

…

she's fifteen when she realizes she's not going to be the first girl to play major league baseball.

if he's honest, he's scared to death.

…

he's sixteen when he plays baseball again. for real this time. starting catcher, backup shortstop, for junior varsity; not bad for a sophomore.

he's just one of the guys. it's nice.

the girls locker room is kind of lonely, though, with only one person in it.

…

he goes by buster now. if somebody asks, his name is gerald. but buster’s cooler, and nobody will mistake it for his old name.

(he tells himself he didn't choose the nickname from that sandlot four years ago, but he’d be lying if he said that wasn't part of it. he wants to live in that feeling forever.)

…

he starts taking testosterone shots when he's eighteen. it's obvious nobody knows, really, what to do with him, that he’s a guinea pig, but he doesn't really care. for the first time in a decade, he can look at himself in the mirror and smile.

buster posey. it has a nice ring to it.

…

sophomore year at florida state, they move him to catcher. it's weird, at first. he's used to shortstop. it only takes a few days, though, for the muscle memory to kick in. catching feels right. he’s meant to do this.

it's even starting to look like things might turn out okay.

(only his roommate has asked about the ropy scars on his chest. he can live with that.)

…

september second, two thousand nine. he made it. this is real.

he's in the majors. the show. the big leagues.

he strikes out in his first at-bat, won’t get a hit for two and a half more weeks, but he's here. 

someone in the locker room says to him, “hey, kid, welcome to the show,” and leaves with a simple pat on the back.

buster would never admit it, but he feels tears threatening to spill from behind his eyes. he's a baseball player. one of  _ those _ guys.

one of those  _ guys _ .

…

four all-star games. rookie of the year, then mvp. three world series rings.

it doesn't feel real. he wouldn't change a thing, even if he could.

he only wishes he could tell his ten, twelve, fifteen year old self that it'll be okay.

he does the next best thing, though. he does speeches, interviews, press conferences. talks about himself - talks to teenagers who remind him of what it felt like to be a young trans kid: scared, alone, terrified of losing the game they love.

…

the yankees’ newest ace celebrated his most recent win by kissing his boyfriend - on camera, too. and people cheered.

there's even a trans kid making his way up through the cubs’ system. rumours say he'll be in the bigs by the all-star break. they say he's the next anthony rizzo.

buster can't help but be proud that he has had even a small part in letting these guys be just another ballplayer. it feels weird to be heralded as some sort of leader in this, but he's glad to be able to have helped. 

for the first time in a long time, he's certain that things are gonna be okay.

**Author's Note:**

> thanks for reading !!
> 
> (as always, kudos/comments are appreciated :0)


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